


Stranger Days

by Lamachine



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Crack, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3794332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamachine/pseuds/Lamachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Relinquishing all hopes of turning Sameen into a lady of the court had given Harold some sense of peace, and the guards, less concussions.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sporty-clone. Happy birthday Lauren! :)
> 
> Also this is crack. And fluff. Kind of.

When the two of them weren’t off exploring the countryside, they spent most days in the vacant lot behind the barracks, training for a fight that would never happen - or at the very least, a fight no one at the court would ever hear about. Tales of tavern brawls had no place in high society, no matter how colorful they ended up being. Besides, Sameen and John did very little dwelling on the stories they collected along the way. They would pick fights with unsavory criminals and sharp-tongued thugs, every now and then unintentionally creating legends; the kind some ill-inspired fool would write songs about, eventually, if they ever sobered up.

 

It wasn’t very proper for a princess to go galavanting the world with her personal guard’s first knight, throwing punches at everything she despised. It was, however, a situation that Harold, as Chancellor of this kingdom, had long learned to live with. For as long as he could remember, there was no telling Sameen what to do - already as a child she would run off, fighting imaginary dragons and rescuing make-believe victims for whom she had little care. If during her earlier years he tried to control the fiery little thing and her thirst for adventure, Harold had quickly learned that such a feat simply could not be achieved.

 

Relinquishing all hopes of turning Sameen into a lady of the court had given Harold some sense of peace, and the guards, less concussions.

 

Therefore, John was not _really_ hitting the princess he had sworn to protect when he struck down his sword that morning. Who he was fighting, actually, was the short ball of anger and violence she had grown into - John dared not imagine how deadly she would come to be on battlefields, if the kingdom ever marched to war.

 

“Missed,” Sameen panted as she dodged the hit. “Too slow.”

 

Cocky, as always.

 

John wasn’t surprised when she jumped forward to attack his left side; he blocked the assault without breaking a sweat. Seeing as she was wearing the same metal helmet as any other knight, John could not entirely be certain, and yet he would have sworn that Sameen was smirking proudly when she kicked him seconds later. Her heel digging into the nerves and muscles of his upper calf, her boot forced him to fall down on one knee.

 

“I yield,” he groaned for the third time since sunrise, as the tip of her blade found the unprotected skin at the back of his neck.

 

A short laughter escaped Sameen’s lips as she took a step back, allowing John to stand up once more. “You’re not your usual this morning,” she mocked more than she complained. “Stayed up too late in the kitchens?”

 

In truth, he had spent the previous night drinking his fair share of wine with one of the cooks. John vaguely remembered the first rays of sunlight burning on the horizon as he had fallen asleep - or perhaps _lost consciousness_ was more like it. But that was not something he was keen on admitting, and so he groaned instead.

 

“Spend too much time stealing kisses,” Sameen sneered, “and you’ll lose your footing.”

 

John did not mind the taunts as much as he loathed the bruises, but since he was garnering both on this fine morning, it wasn’t without frustration that he reminded Sameen that maybe, she ought to start stealing some of her own. After all, the people of her kingdom had waited long enough to see their dearest, although peculiar princess enter holy matrimony.

 

“I’m _never_ getting married,” Sameen repeated for the hundredth time. “I’m not built that way.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was not, in fact, the first time the princess had arrived late to greet a contingent of ambassadors from another kingdom. It was, however, the first time she had appeared at the afternoon tea wearing her entire body armor. Helmet in hand, sword hanging at the waist, a little streak of blood ran down Sameen’s temple. With the princess sweating heavily and mucky like some vagrant girl, Harold thought for a moment that he would faint. Then, he considered chasing her out of the room, and pretend that she wasn’t the princess, but some knight who did not know her place.

 

In the end, he did neither of those things; already Prince Jeremy had stepped forward and offered his hand to Sameen.

 

“It is an honor to meet you,” he smiled graciously, as if Sameen hadn’t curled up her lips in distaste.

 

One small nudge from John urged her to extend her guest some courtesy. Sameen pulled off one glove to allow the prince to kiss the back of her hand, glancing aside to feign timidity. As his lips brushed against her skin, Sameen grimaced slightly before she asked in her most agreeable voice if his journey had been uneventful.

 

Ten minutes later, as the Prince finished telling his story, she regretted that she ever formulated her question in a way that did not require a simple yes or no. Swearing to herself that she would not repeat the mistake, she politely requested to take her leave, and fully expected to do so when Harold cleared his throat.

 

“Perhaps, your majesty would reconsider,” he insisted and Sameen frowned. _That_ had never happened before. “Prince Jeremy travelled a long time to meet you.”

 

Sameen eyed down Harold, then Jeremy, and finally John. Sensing some strange tension she could not make heads or tails of, she squinted her eyes and sighed. “Fine,” she threw both of her gloves at the ground. “But just one cup.”

 

As the maid poured the tea in silence, Sameen dabbed at her cut with one ambassador's handkerchief, ignoring the curious eyes of the prince and the worried glances of Harold.

 

“So,” she sighed, “what kind of horse do you ride?”

 

“Oh,” Jeremy flashed a perfectly lined-up row of white teeth, “I rode in a carriage.”

 

Sameen’s hold on the porcelain cup tightened, and it took every strength she had for her not to throw it in the Prince’s pretentious face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Of all corners and dark spaces to converse privately, Harold had long ago taken a liking to the abandoned library of the northern tower. Away from loose-lipped maids and nosy ambassadors, he waited for John, his nervous fingers running over the old leather covers, feet shuffling in the dust. His headache throbbed despite the quietness; a dreadful reminder of the reason behind this secret meeting.

 

Years he had avoided the issue. He had discouraged dozens of suitors, and silenced the worries of the council. To everyone who would care to listen, he insisted that the celibate life was a formative experience for the princess, and that it would mold her into a fair ruler for her kingdom. Even knowing it could not last, Harold had hoped for another solution.

 

But time, it seemed, had a way of running out, and he had responsibilities to uphold. A kingdom to serve and protect - unfortunately, this meant that the difficult choices were his to make, and tonight, his hand had been forced. There was no other way out this time, and it was with resignation that he sighed when John finally appeared at his side.

 

The library was as quiet as it always had been - burning candles rarely made any sound - and with John’s every footsteps, Harold felt condemnation. His heavy boots on the wooden floor; a judge’s hammer announcing verdict. Harold swallowed hard; he had sent John on many different missions over the years, but this one, he dreaded John would refuse. There was no telling that he could convince John to help him in this.

 

No telling what would happen to their beloved kingdom.

 

Perhaps John would agree with Harold that there was no other way, and the kingdom still had a chance at peace. Or John would refuse to listen to reason, and more likely they would fall into a war Harold had little doubt they could win.

 

“What’s with all the secrecy?” John questioned as soon as he sat on the bench beside Harold, the wooden seat creaking under his weight.

 

Harold drew in a sharp breath, gathering courage. “Some things are better kept in the dark.”

 

John nodded, his face stiff with a seriousness Harold noticed every now and then, when John thought no one was looking. Tonight, however, there was no hiding it; John wore it like a shield. Harold took a moment to collect his thoughts before he spoke; this moment felt sacred, somehow. Sitting in silence, they hung on the tip of the scale, and at any minute, the kingdom could fall either way. Peace, or chaos.

 

“Prince Jeremy is not here on a diplomatic visit,” Harold stared ahead, avoiding the worried eyes John had turned on him. “He wants to ask Sameen to marry him.”

 

John cracked up - right there, in the middle of the night, in the abandoned library where Harold only reconvened with him when the kingdom was at its darkest hour. A loud laughter that was best suited for taverns and bright afternoons; John laughed until he remembered where he was, when his gaze met Harold’s troubled eyes.

 

“Well that’s not going to happen, Harold,” John simply stated, shrugging like it was obvious.

 

Although evidently, it was not. “She has no choice but to accept,” Harold sighed with so much desperation that John moved away slightly, as if physical distance would help him see the point that Harold was trying to make. “If she refuses, the Prince will take offense, and wage war on us.”

 

John’s frown turned even grimmer. “And you want me to convince her to take the Prince’s hand?” John suggested, although the doubt in his voice betrayed that already, he doubted Harold’s plan would ever work.

 

“And risk that she refuses?” Harold crossed his arms. He did not enjoy this, but Prince Jeremy had left them no choice. “You, of all people, have seen what damages the last war has done to this kingdom,” perhaps it was cruel to remind John of the loss of both his parents, but peace sometimes demanded sacrifices.

 

“What do you want me to do?” John asked in resignation, like an executioner that had worked for too many years.

 

Harold waited a beat before continuing, already expecting John’s reaction. “There is a woman, living at the edge of the forest…”

 

John jumped up from the bench. “Magic?” he shook his head, unconvinced. “You want _Root_ to help with this?”

 

He spit all his disgust in the nickname and still, Harold did not flinch.

 

“A love potion,” Harold finally revealed his last card; the real reason he had called upon John’s aid. “So that she can truly choose the Prince.”

 

John looked pale, and pained.

 

“We’ve seen stranger things,” Harold tried to convince.

 

John remembered the dragon that had swallowed the previous king and queen. The council of ambassadors from the west that had transformed into frogs overnight. That curse lager that had turned Sameen into a giant as tall as a mountain, once.

 

Harold was right; there had been stranger days.

 

“Will you go?”

 

On his crutch, Harold would not be able to go very far out of the castle’s walls. These days, he barely made it out of his tower. John sighed.

 

“Yes,” he finally breathed out in agreement, a grimace twisted his traits. “But if the witch turns me into a monkey again, I will consider you responsible.”

 

Harold smiled shortly - not a grin, not a smirk, but the littlest of curls of his lips, with all the fatigue in the world wrapped around it. “Thank you, John.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She lived in a small, crooked cabin near the edge of the forest, and if John hadn’t been here before – desperate for a way to return the princess to her normal size before anyone noticed – John would have lost his way to the obscurity of the path. Although he reached the front door with little difficulty, he froze when he rose his fist to knock.

 

The door seemed ill-fitted for its hinges, and the whole structure seemed frail, like it could collapse as a house of cards if he moved too quickly. Inside, lights burned orange - candles, he guessed, but then again with magic involved there really was no way to tell. He straightened his cloth on his shoulders, and finally knocked three times, with the confidence and bravery of a man his rank.

 

When the door opened with a long, wincing creak, promising only darkness - and a strange smell of spices - John, perhaps, lost a rank or two. He shivered as he stepped inside, the little bag of gold hanging at his belt hitting his upper thigh with every step.

 

“Oh it’s you again,” the lean woman smirked, sitting beside her cauldron. She had an old leather book in one hand, and a large ladle in the other. “The helper monkey,” she sneered.

 

John frowned, glancing at the dark, bubbling liquid in the cauldron. “I come with orders from the Chancellor,” he tried to declare as proudly and officially as he could, but it sounded more like a suggestion. A shy request.

 

Root laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t respond well to orders,” she threatened, plunging the ladle in her cauldron to agitate the strange spicy mixture that had started to boil furiously.

 

“Potion?” John wondered aloud, one eye on the cauldron like it could explode at any minute.

 

“Soup,” Root replied with a smirk, an evil grin that deepened when she noticed John’s hesitations. “You have _orders_?” she mocked, although one eye had locked on the bag of gold dangling at John’s waist, eyeing it greedily.

 

John forced himself to take his eyes off the offending mixture. “I need a love potion,” he explained.

 

At that, Root laughed wholeheartedly, enough to bring water to her eyes, and some angered red to John’s cheeks. “Well it’s not for me,” he insisted, and Root tried – with very little success - to calm down.

 

“I do hope it isn’t,” she nodded, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, “I doubt even my potions could help an ogre like you find a proper date to the ball.”

 

If they had been in a tavern, John would not have hesitated to crash his beer glass against the countertop and challenge Root to a fight. But this wasn’t a tavern and he hadn’t, as a matter of fact, any glasses to break. Instead, he glared at her with all the spite he could muster, and crossed his arms.

 

“Do you want the contract?” said John as he rolled his eyes.

 

With a flick of her wrist, the gold vanished from where it hanged at John’s belt, and appeared in Root’s hand. “Who are the love birds?”

 

John grimaced. “Can’t you just... whip up something?” he glanced at the _ingredients_ on the walls, where a jar of eyeballs sat next to a pile of feathers.

 

“Love spells are delicate,” Root purred. “They require more than just a few drops of enchantment.”

 

Weary of his travel and of the request itself, John sighed. “The Chancellor wants Princess Sameen to fall in love with Prince Jeremy,” he explained, guilt burning in his gut and making him nauseous – or perhaps it was the awful scent of Root’s soup.

 

“Oh this is for Sameen,” Root cut him off, a curious glint in the back of her eyes. “The princess who fights like a man.”

 

John grimaced. “She can punch alright,” John remembered all too well. He still had bruises from their training session, two days before. “Can you do it?”

 

Root shrugged. “You’ll learn there’s nothing I can’t do, _John_ ,” she accentuated the name like it was hard to speak it without disdain.

 

Rolling his eyes in irritation, John turned towards the door, ready to take his leave.

 

“Oh, one thing,” Root stopped him in his tracks; “I’m going to need them both at the same place, for this to work. Preferably alone, if at all possible.”

 

John groaned. He already hated the part he had to play in this, and now his involvement had to continue beyond tonight’s chore. He shook his head; this wasn’t going to be easy, but he had no choice.

 

“Unless it’s too hard for you to arrange,” Root mocked him openly. “I hear the princess has quite the temper… but surely, given your _rank_ , she listens to you?"

 

Although none of it sat well with his conscience, John nodded. “I’ll get it done,” he grunted. “You just make sure you’re ready in time, witch.”

 

Root’s cold and evil laughter followed him all the way back to the castle.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The uncomfortable dress, the awkward silences, the ants aiming for her sandwich… nothing about a picnic sounded appealing to Sameen. She did understand that as a sovereign, she had some duties to perform; nowhere did it state, however, that she had to _enjoy_ herself while she fulfilled them.

 

“You have the most radiant smile,” Jeremy cooed, and Sameen glared at him harder.

 

The castle’s cook had better left a part of his very soul in this sandwich, or Sameen could not promise that this prince would leave the meadow unscathed.

 

“Shall we eat?” she pushed the words through gritted teeth, silently picturing the breaking of Jeremy’s wrist when his hand ventured on her knee.

 

The prince, being just as proper as most men of his stature were, grinned like a wolf in a sheep’s clothing. “I do like a woman with an appetite,” he replied, obviously unaware of how close to being murdered he had just been, as he finally opened the picnic basket.

 

Sameen did not wait for his good manners to offer her some food; she grabbed what was hers and shoved the rest on Jeremy’s lap, barely paying him attention.

 

No, instead she focused on the strange sensation that they were being watched – as if curious eyes burned holes in the back of her neck. The slightest of movements on Sameen’s part revealed a shadow hiding in the nearby bushes, barely visible. Yet, it was there, spying on her, and no matter what kind of low-life criminal they were, their presence was infinitely more interesting than the dull prince making dull eyes at her.

 

It became all the more intriguing when Sameen caught the tiniest of flashes amongst the leaves - a sword reflecting the sun, perhaps? But it was too small...

 

An arrow, she realised just in time to roll out of the way.

 

Sameen ignored Jeremy’s gasp of surprise as she lifted her dress and reached for the blade tied to her thigh.

 

“What…” he started saying, but Sameen had no time for discussion - the threat was moving between the trees, rapidly adding distance between them.

 

Cursing against the dress as it caught in low branches and thorns, Sameen ran as fast as she could, eyes on the thin dark shadow up ahead. She was almost close enough to reach the stranger’s cloak when they disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving her stumbling. Sameen stopped there, panting, looking around with a confused look.

 

Sitting up a tree, a familiar lean figure smirked. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Root purred.

 

Gauging the distance, Sameen calculated the probability that her dagger would reach her target if she threw if from where she stood. There was a couple more branches in the way than she’d have preferred, but the shot was possible.

 

“ _Sameen_ ,” Root shook her head before she poofed again, and reappeared right in front of Sameen. “It’s not polite to stab your friends.”

 

From up close, Sameen could see the arrows glistening in her quiver - poison, she guessed. There was no doubt that Root was her assailant from the meadow, and yet Sameen only found herself with more questions. She hadn’t seen the which, after all, since the cursed day she had been turned into a giant. The mere remembrance caused her a headache. “We’re not friends,” she replied, fists closed.

 

“We are,” Root grinned, even as her eyes promised deception.

 

“What kind of friend would shoot a poisoned arrow at my head?” Sameen opposed, crossing her arms.

 

Root smirked even wider. “I was aiming for your heart,” she corrected with a wink.

 

Footsteps behind them seemed to remind Root that she was a fugitive at the moment. “I’ll see you again soon, Sameen.”

 

Sameen moved to grab her by the arm, intent on taking her hostage, but some strange force paralysed her in place.

 

“How sweet,” Root purred as she disappeared in another cloud of smoke.

 

The invisible pressure holding Sameen immobile vanished, just as Jeremy arrived by her side. Startled, Sameen nearly stabbed him in the process; the blade cutting through his arm when she changed the angle of her hit at the last second. As he hissed in pain, pale and terrified, Sameen wondered if diplomacy required that she apologise for the wound. Sensing it would probably be best, she cleared her throat.

 

“Uh, sorry about that,” she waved towards the cut before she made a move to return to the meadow.

 

“What happened?” Jeremy asked, following her down the path. His eyes had widened like he had seen a ghost, one hand pressing a handkerchief to his wound as he looked around, as if searching for the hidden trick.

 

Sameen shrugged. “Hell if I care.”

 

The ride back to the castle was way quieter than the trot to the meadow had been, and Sameen silently thanked her assailant for the small respite.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Root caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she closed the door of her cabin. She noticed that peculiar smile that hadn’t left her since the meadow, one that strangely ached at her upper cheeks. The way her heart beat just a tiny bit faster when she let her thoughts wander.

 

“Uh-oh,” Root frowned. She checked her pocket to be sure; oddly enough, the love potion hadn’t spilled on her. “Oh,” she calmly observed, blinking. “Well, that’s new.”


	2. Chapter 2

All sentiments aside, however, a contract was a contract, and in that, it demanded to be fulfilled. If Root could not risk the old Cupid’s approach, she still had plenty of other options available. Well, a couple. Well, she had _some_ ideas. One night at her cauldron ought to do it, and with morning came the certainty that this second plan - although definitely less fun than the first - would almost-quite-possibly succeed. Which, in her line of work, meant it was quite the achievement.

 

She could have reached the castle in no time - literally - and yet she chose to bring John to her instead. After all, what was a little teleportation spell between old acquaintances? Of course Root hadn’t accounted for the early hour, and when presented with a sleepy John wearing nothing but underwear, she doubted her decision-making skills. Still, it seemed a better option than to meet him in his bedroom, safely tucked between bedsheets, and so Root left it at that.

 

John, however, wasn’t so keen on putting this teleportation business behind them. “What the hell?” he barked as he crossed his arms, as if trying to hide what little he could of his naked torso. Root rolled her eyes as he frowned. “This better be important.”

 

Ignoring his now-clattering teeth, Root gleamed. A civilized hostess might have offered a blanket at this point, but that had never been Root’s strong suit. Instead, she shoved a purple vial into his hand. “Make the prince drink this, at noon precisely,” Root instructed.

 

“Or what?” John repressed a yawn.

 

Unsurprisingly, an annoyed sigh escaped Root’s lips. “Just do it,” she ordered, ready to send him back. “Noon,” she repeated more sternly.

 

“Wait a minute, noon?” John seemingly realised, eyes still clouded by sleep. “You had plenty of time to come by the castle and ask for me later-”

 

Before he could vent his frustrations with her perhaps-slightly-questionable methods, Root flicked her hands and sent him back - hopefully to his bedroom. It was new, this technique of moving others between the very fabrics of reality, and there was a chance John might not make it there.

 

A small chance, though. Really tiny, wee little chance.

 

Root barely paid it a second thought.

 

* * *

 

 

The princess had always been known for her appetite, and so Root had no doubt that she could easily get her to drink the potion with her meal - if only she could get near the table. Not one for company, Sameen usually ate alone in her rooms.

 

Root contemplated invisibility, but it seemed a little too risky. She couldn’t spice up the food too early either, seeing as the two parties had to consume the potion at precisely the same time for this specific enchantment to work. No, for this one, Root had no choice – she waved a hand in front of her, and grimaced.

 

In the mirror, instead of her usual self, she found a crooked old lady wearing maiden clothes, and she sighed.

 

It would have to do.

 

She had no problem in the castle’s kitchens to be tasked with bringing the princess’ plate to her tower. Apparently, most of the maids were terrified of her, as her bad temper created quite the fearful reputation – it only made Root smile, and she had to force herself to remember that she was playing the part of an old maid. She groaned and faked a cough before she took her leave, Sameen’s meal in hand.

 

The hundred stairs to reach the princess’ rooms seemed a bit much, and Root rolled her eyes when she finally climbed the last one, only to find a second staircase. Muttering profanities all the way up, Root promised herself she would turn John into a monkey again, just to spite him.

 

“Took you long enough,” Sameen groaned from within her room when Root knocked on her door.

 

Stepping in with feigned timidity, Root averted her gaze. “I’m sorry your Majesty,” she croaked out, the old woman’s voice making her cringe.

 

In response Sameen only sighed, and Root slowly walked towards the study stuck against the wall, near the window. She tried not to glance at the rest of Sameen’s bedroom, despite her curiosity. As she left the plate on the desk she pulled out a vial from her robe and quickly dropped a few tears of her potion on the seasoned meat.

 

When she turned around, however, Root nearly stumbled. Sameen was stretching her arms, the fabric of her shirt tightening over her breast. Root swallowed hard, her eyes running over the tensed muscles, lean and strong limbs that usually hid in armor.

 

“What?” Sameen groaned.

 

Root blinked, confused. “Uhh... aren’t you going to eat?”

 

Sameen frowned, her eyes roaming over Root like she could see right through the disguise. Root gulped.

 

“Who are you?” Sameen asked, stepping between the door and Root, blocking her escape. “I’ve never seen you around.”

 

Root faked a crooked smile. “Just an old woman,” she shrugged. Perhaps she should’ve thought of a name, but it was a bit late for that now.

 

“Root?” Sameen questioned, frustration seeping in.

 

Rolling her eyes, Root flicked her wrist, undoing the enchantment. “Fine,” she grunted impatiently.

 

Sameen glanced at the plate on her desk. “What have you done to my food?” she spoke angrily.

 

With a sheepish smile, Root hesitated. “Spiced it up?”

 

Rage boiled in Sameen’s eyes. “You _ruined_ my roasted beef?”

 

The offense seemed unredeemable, and although Root loved the sight of a furious Sameen ready to cut her head off, she rushed towards the window. Jumping out without fear, she heard a series of curses coming from behind her as she turned her cloak into a parachute, hoping the magic would work in time for her not to crash to her death.

 

Reaching the ground as light as a leaf, Root ignored the gasps of admiration and terror coming from the few peasants who had witnessed her fall. She sighed in frustration as she readjusted her cloak, grimacing at the thought that she had failed her task once again.

 

On the way back home she dumped the rest of the potion into the pigs’ water, and then spent the better part of the afternoon picturing Prince Jeremy desperately in love with a pig.

 

Magic didn’t work like that, of course, but it didn’t hurt to dream.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Root hadn’t been as efficient as she usually was, that much she would agree on – well, under torture, maybe. But really, it did not warrant an intrusion into her home, and certainly not by _him_.

 

“I know what you’re doing,” John hissed through gritted teeth.

 

Root glared. She had no idea why her plans kept failing, and so for once, she did not mind a little enlightenment - not that she would tell John that.

 

“You’re sabotaging our plan,” John continued angrily. “You’re in love with her.”

 

Blinking, Root shook her head. “No, no it isn’t that,” she frowned. Of course she had noticed how her heart tended to race a bit faster when she thought of Sameen, and the way her mouth dried and her palms turned wet. But Root wasn’t some flustered maiden; she was a master of the dark arts, a sorcerer of tremendous power. Something else had to be happening.

 

John wasn’t convinced. “I’ve seen the way you act around her,” he insisted, stepping forward. “I’m no fool.”

 

Root wasn’t one either, and she had her mind set on turning him into a pile of dust.

 

“If this fails the kingdom will fall into chaos,” John reminded her in frustration. “We don’t have time for your little crush.”

 

Silently reviewing her deadliest and most painful curses, Root glared at him. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of explaining herself.

 

He looked desperate as he grabbed one of her books and shoved it into her hands. “ _Do_ something,” he ordered, turning around to glance at her shelves. Something caught his eye and he leaned up to reach it, fingers grasping two little dolls neatly hidden over a cupboard.

 

One strangely looked like Sameen; the other, like Prince Jeremy. John frowned before he returned his eyes on Root. “What is this?” he asked accusingly.

 

Root shrugged. “It’s nothing,” she tried to take them from him, but John pulled his hand away. “Be careful,” she warned.

 

“I heard of this before,” John spoke in wonderment. “Dolls that make you control people,” he realised.

 

Sighing in annoyance, Root reached for them again, only to have John move them further away from her. “They’re _effigies_ ,” she rolled her eyes. “Leave them.”

 

But it seemed far from John’s intent. “What’s that?” John questioned when he noticed a small pin, right in the middle of Jeremy’s back.

 

Root grinned. “Gave him an itch that he can’t scratch.”

 

John shook his head, looking even more desperate than before. “This is ridiculous,” he declared, making his way towards the door, intent on stopping this now, and for good. Harold would have to find another way to get Sameen to marry the Prince.

 

“Give them back,” Root growled as she jumped on his back, her fists hitting every part of him that she could reach. John tried to shake her off, but she was a feisty one. He swung around fast, successfully getting her off him for a few seconds before she rushed at him again.

 

In the struggle that ensued, one of the dolls was thrown into the air, crossing the space without a sound and crashing against the wall. Root and John froze, staring at each other in disbelief.

 

In John’s hand they found the Sameen effigy intact, a short sigh of relief escaping both of them at the sight.

 

When they grabbed the prince’s lookalike doll from the floor, Root and John exchanged only one look before they ran out the door, rushing towards the castle without a word.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh,” Root breathed out, mouth half-open.

 

“Oh,” John echoed, eyes blinking.

 

In the middle of his previously-locked and secure quarters, Prince Jeremy laid dead on the floor, half-dressed, his neck twisted in a strange, nearly comical angle.

 

“This is unfortunate,” Root nodded.

 

And it was, really, although Root’s tone did not convey regret. At most, she sounded vaguely annoyed. She clicked her tongue and walked out, a puzzled John in tow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The abandoned library was just as quiet as it had been a few nights before, when John and Harold had met to discuss Prince Jeremy’s proposal. Tonight, however, four different breaths waved the small flames of the candles that lighted the space here and there.

 

“This is by far the craziest thing you’ve ever done,” Sameen repeated for the third time, a mixture of shock and anger waving her voice. “And that’s counting the time you asked the entire court to pretend the world ended at the castle wall so I wouldn’t wander around.”

 

Harold readjusted his cloak, uncomfortable. “John and I thought-”

 

“ _John_?” Sameen cut him off, arms crossed as she glared at John. “You agreed to this stupid plan?”

 

Root chuckled beside her, and earned herself a snarl. “Hey crazy witch,” Sameen grunted; “you’re not helping.”

 

Sighing, Harold cleared his throat. “Are we sure his death is not accidental?” he tried, evidently searching for a way to solve this mess.

 

“Even if it was,” John strangely looked both disheartened and irritated, “he still has the cut from where Sameen stabbed him.”

 

Offended, Sameen stood up. “Hey,” she frowned, “I’m not the one who snapped his neck.”

 

“It wasn’t my fault,” he complained, “she _attacked_ me.”

 

All eyes turned to Root, who blinked. “Oh,” she breathed out, her surprised expression turning into a devilish grin. “Is it my turn to speak?”

 

They frowned as she stretched her arms above her head, leaving the uncomfortable wooden bench to stand before them.

 

“I know what to do,” she smirked.

 

The three others didn’t say anything, unconvinced and weary.

 

“In fact,” Root’s arrogant smile colored the words so well, “I believe I am the only chance you have at avoiding war.”

 

The looks on Harold, John and Sameen’s faces betrayed that they shared the same thought; _that_ wasn’t something any sane person would ever believe. But it wasn’t about to deter Root. “Sameen needs to marry the Prince.”

 

At that, John jumped up. “You can bring him back to life?”

 

Root laughed. “Of course not.”

 

 “Then what do you suggest?” Harold questioned, obviously irritated.

 

Root turned a warm gaze towards Sameen. “ _Someone_ has to be her Prince,” she answered just as, with a flick of her wrist, she transformed into Jeremy. “I volunteer.”

 

“ _You_?” Sameen grunted. “Hell no.”

 

Harold grimaced. “If we go along with this plan,” he frowned, “I’m afraid we can’t involve anyone else in this.”

 

“But marrying her?” Sameen sent desperate looks to Harold and John, “there has to be another way.”

 

John averted his gaze as Harold seemed to take the decision for all of them. “It does seem like the better option.”

 

Sameen groaned; they were right. No matter how much her instincts screamed to wage a war instead, it was a battle they could not win. “Can’t it be someone else, though?”

 

Root smirked. “Would you rather kiss John or Harold at the ceremony?”

 

Rolling her eyes, Sameen reluctantly surrendered.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

For the first time since the day she had been born, Sameen did look like a princess. When John told her that, he received a punch hard enough to remind him that she was every bit the same, whether she wore a dress or an armor. He flinched for a while after that, every time she moved quickly, and she smirked at his misery.

 

“At least I’m not getting married to _Root_ ,” he reminded her.

 

Her grin faltered, turned into a clenched jaw. “It’s for the kingdom.”

 

But as she walked down the aisle, eyes locked on a nervous and joyful prince that wasn’t quite who he appeared to be, some strange warmth appeared in Sameen’s eyes. For a moment John wondered if Root’s potions hadn’t worked after all - but not on the right people.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Root whispered when Sameen reached her at the altar.

 

“Shut up,” Sameen replied, her cheeks reddening ever so slightly.

 

As Root gleamed, John and Harold shared a look.

 

There had been stranger days.

 

 

* * *

 

 

If anyone had asked, Sameen would have said that she had agreed to the wedding to protect the peace of her kingdom, devoid of the need of any gratitude. Although now that she was eyeing the feast prepared in honor of the bride and groom, she thought there was some kind of bliss, after all, in doing the right thing.

 

Of course, Root’s hand on her thigh liked to remind her that it also came with a price.

 

“I will break your wrist,” she threatened, but Root’s smile did not falter.

 

“You’re welcome to try, sweetie.”

 

Oh, and try, she would. Sameen was halfway into picturing just how she would make Root pay for all this embarrassment when John appeared in front of the couple, frowning.

 

“What’s in the crates?” he questioned Root.

 

“What crates?” Sameen asked just as Root sighed in contempt. “My things.”

 

Sameen twisted on her seat. “Your things?”

 

Root grinned. “Well now that we are married, surely you don’t expect me to live at the edge of the forest,” she shook her head. “That would not be very appropriate.”

 

Sameen groaned. “You’re not living with me.”

 

With a shrug, “I am,” she answered, toying with her utensils. “Or at least until the Prince has an accident and leaves you a widow.”

 

“That could happen more rapidly than you think”, Sameen replied angrily, knuckles turning white as she grabbed her knife.

 

Root eyed the blade, and then Sameen. “Perhaps I should supervise the work,” she suggested, “wouldn’t want the tower to explode because someone dropped the wrong crate, now would we?”

 

Sameen only glared as Root leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. “I’ll be right back, darling.”

 

Sameen groaned.

 

“So,” John took the empty seat. “Now who’s stealing kisses?”

 

Feeling her cheeks reddening, Sameen turned her attention to the feast. “Shut up.”


	3. Epilogue

“Root,” Sameen barked the name with the usual mixture of unabashed anger and sheer surprise, “what the hell made you think this was a good idea?”

 

She ducked as yet another tree flew just above her head, raining apples around her. She had planned to make cider out of those - one more thing Root had ruined with her useless magic tricks.

 

At least Root didn’t look like she was enjoying herself this time; she had jumped to the side to avoid the large projectile and ended up with her ass in the mud, her lips curled into a pout. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” she protested. Whether she meant the result of her latest magic trick or having her butt stuck in the pigs' sludge, Sameen couldn't know. 

 

But it definitely never was _exactly what she had in mind_ when Root tried “fixing” things around the kingdom. This time, however, it was a whole new level of chaos. Worse than the time Harold had woken up with wings (“he said he was tired of all the stairs”) and way more public than the time all animals of the court had gained the ability to speak.

 

(It had turned out, the ducks had amazing things to say - but since they wouldn’t shut up until wee hours of the night, Sameen would rather never hear a duck again.)

 

She maneuvered her horse towards the pigs’ den and offered Root a hand. “I get trying to bring him back to life,” she nodded, waiting for Root to grab her wrist so that Sameen could pull her out of the mud pit, “but why turn him into a giant?”

 

As if understanding that they were talking about him, Prince Jeremy stomped his zombie feet, making the earth shake.

 

Root bit her lip before she climbed on the fence and onto the horse, putting her arms around Sameen’s waist. “I might have mixed it wrong,” she blinked, taking in the sight.

 

“You _think_?”

 

On the other side of the gardens, John set another arrow in his arc, and took aim. It crossed the air in one swift move, hitting the target right under his left eye. It had no other effect than pulling out a deafening groan that would’ve frightened everyone in the court if they hadn’t ran away a little while ago, when the trouble had started.

 

“I do believe this only angers him, John,” Harold repeated, and repressed the urge to roll his eyes when John stubbornly pulled yet another arrow from its quiver.

 

In front of them, a larger - way larger - Prince Jeremy growled, and pulled a fifth apple tree out of the earth to throw it at the castle. This time, it landed on the stables just behind the pigs’ den, and Princess Sameen unsheathed her sword with a whole new fury. “That’s it,” she clenched her jaw, ignoring the high-pitched squeals of frightened pigs all around her. “I’m done with damage control. I’m gonna kill him.”

 

Harold shook his head, having guessed what the princess had in mind. “It does not seem prudent,” he suggested, but Sameen had her eyes on the giant zombie... who had just started crying.

 

“What’s happening now?” Sameen turned to ask Root, who shrugged a little too innocently for someone claiming they didn't know.

 

The giant prince fell on his knees and wept, the sobs so loud that it made it nearly impossible to hear anything else.

 

When Root ignored her question again, Sameen sent her elbow into her ribs, hard enough that Root almost fell off the horse. “I, um,” she sent a glance towards the large tears dropping on the ground, “I might have made him fall in love with a pig.”

 

“So you killed him with a puppet,” Sameen recalled, “turned him into a zombie - a giant zombie,” she continued, exasperated; “and _then_ made him fall for a pig?”

 

“In my defense,” Root tried a short smile, “the love thing probably happened before he died. The first time around, I mean.”

 

Sameen rolled her eyes.

 

“And it-” Root was cut off.

 

“It was an accident,” John, Harold and Sameen said at the same time. “We know!”

 

Root pouted. “I was only trying to help.”

 

And that was the whole problem. The kingdom would hold itself together way better if Root didn’t try to _help_ every once in a while. She had _assisted_ some farmers with a parasite issue, only to have the crops floating around for three days straight. Farmers had to go around with fish nets, trying to gather the cereals. Granted it had been kind of funny; but not very practical in the end.

 

“Stop trying to help,” Sameen repeated for the hundredth time.

 

Only to have Root answer with words Harold, John and Sameen had learned to dread; “don’t worry, I can fix this.”

 

Jeremy’s large hand reached for the pigs and Sameen quickly maneuvered out of the way. Root saw her chance; she jumped onto Jeremy’s wrist, holding on for dear life when he tried to shake her off.

 

As Root disappeared into his left sleeve, Sameen and John converged on his right, keeping the giant’s attention away from the human crawling up his clothes. As the princess charged her horse towards Jeremy’s leg, intent on stabbing him a few times over for all the trouble he had caused, John emptied his quiver on his shoulder, with little effect.

 

In fact, it had only returned them to their previous situation; angry again, the giant reached for the closest thing - a merchant’s cart - and threw it towards his attackers. Swiftly avoiding the projectile, Sameen missed the sight of Root finally reaching the top, her head peeking out of Jeremy’s collar. Yet she still heard her screaming something Sameen could only decipher as “ _top hats ...make him eat_ ” and the confusion stopped her before she even reached the leg.

 

With one look up Sameen noticed Root pulling something out of her bag, and it took only seconds before whatever she had in her hands turned into smoke.

 

A purple smoke with sparks here and there - that couldn’t be good.

 

“Run,” Sameen yelled her order to Harold and John, who had already started to retreat, knowing how unpredictable Root’s solutions were.

 

It wasn’t fast enough, though. When Sameen passed out moments later, it was with Root’s name on her lips, annoyance struggling against the slowing beats of her heart as she realised what Root had yelled. _"Stop that, I'll make him sleep."_

 

Darkness quickly drowned Sameen's thoughts, her muscles warm and tingling with magic. She was going to kill Root for this... right after this nap.

 

“Hey sleepyhead,” Sameen heard the words from afar, the voice pulling her back to consciousness. Her throat ached, but not as much as her back, or her leg. She blinked as she realised her bed was moving up and down - the horse.

 

She had fallen asleep on her horse.

 

Who had also lost consciousness.

 

“What the hell?” Sameen asked, one hand struggling to get rid of her helmet. The direct light hurt her eyes, but the pain stopped once Root appeared just above her, hovering.

 

“I made him sleep,” Root grinned proudly.

 

Sameen managed to pull her leg from under the horse, face twisted in pain. By some strange miracle nothing had broken, but the entire limb felt like a giant bruise that would take forever to heal.

 

“Need help?” Root asked, offering her hand to lift Sameen off the ground.

 

“I think you helped enough already,” Sameen groaned, taking a look around. No sign of the giant zombie that had attacked her castle, but John and Harold were safely tucked besides the western tower, still fast asleep.

 

Root pouted when Sameen stood up, ignoring the helping hand. “Where’s the prince?” Sameen asked instead, ready to punch something - or ideally, someone.

 

“Here,” Root smirked, pulling out a jar from her bag. In it, a tiny Jeremy was curled into a ball, lost to a slumber so heavy that he didn’t even notice as Root’s finger hit the glass. “Don’t worry,” she shrugged under Sameen’s glare, “I poked holes in the lid.”

 

Sameen closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, a wave of irritation threatening to swallow her whole. “You-,” she stopped herself, preferring not to voice how entirely ridiculous this turn of event was. “Why?”

 

“Well I couldn’t kill him _again_ ,” Root explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Leaning on her sword like a cane, Sameen sighed. Half her castle had been destroyed in the fight, there were terrified pigs running around the gardens and John’s snoring was seriously endangering her hearing. Scolding Root would have to wait.

 

“Come on,” she started to walk towards the castle, exhausted despite the unexpected nap. One glance at the sunset warned that she didn’t have much time before another day came - and with it, no doubt, all new kinds of trouble.

 

“Where to?” Root cheerfully asked, trotting along with that annoying smile of hers.

 

Sameen rolled her eyes. Her life really was the strangest thing nowadays. “Let’s find him a bigger jar.”


End file.
